


you hate/love me now and i feel the same way

by bellamythology (onemanbellarmy)



Series: i've heard every album, listened to the radio [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 13:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10945758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemanbellarmy/pseuds/bellamythology
Summary: “I’ve never felt this way about anyone,” she confessed once, rolling over in bed so she could snuggle into his firm embrace. Then, before he could make fun of her for being sappy, “Simultaneously really happy and really pissed off. Like,all the time. You really get under my skin.”[ Bellarke Prompt Fill for Anon: “Fanfic based off the song Rock Bottom - Hailee Steinfeld” ]





	you hate/love me now and i feel the same way

They were fighting again. Honestly, it was harder to catch them _not_ arguing, yelling being more natural to their dynamic than whispering: insults and snide remarks flying back and forth constantly, no truce or white banners to even be considered as the tension mounted between them.

“You’re such an asshole!” Clarke shrieked, a refrain so familiar it now seemed to bounce right off his (unfairly) solid chest.

“That’s rich, coming from the spoiled princess!” Bellamy would shoot back.

At some point screaming subsided into glaring, both of them trying to slow their breathing while anger and frustration and tension solidified in the space between them. Gradually the two of them would inch closer and closer together, almost unconsciously, until she shoved him against the wall or he tackled her onto the bed, hands in each other’s hair and mouths crashing together to cut themselves off before they said something they couldn’t take back.

“I hate you,” Bellamy would mutter as he slammed the door on his way out afterward, while Clarke stormed into her art studio, slamming her own door in response.

“I love you,” Bellamy would murmur when he returned a few hours later, holding out an apology bouquet or a new set of nice charcoals (or both, if it had been an especially vicious fight). After a moment, Clarke would accept the gift and let him inside, curling up against him on the sofa as he scrolled through Netflix, pausing on some feel-good romcom that he pretended he only tolerated for her.

This was their status quo, passionate break-ups and make-ups. While it wasn’t perfect, it was _them_ , and neither of them believed in fixing something that wasn’t really broken. _The right side of rock bottom_ , Bellamy had written on more than one note — he wrote a lot of those, sometimes left on Clarke’s bedside table for her to wake up to when he had an early morning, sometimes accompanying a just-saw-this-and-thought-of-you gift delivered to her student PO box. (In another lifetime, he could’ve been a poet, famed for epic love letters, as Clarke told him so frequently.)

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone,” she confessed once, rolling over in bed so she could snuggle into his firm embrace. Then, before he could make fun of her for being sappy, “Simultaneously really happy and really pissed off. Like, _all the time_. You really get under my skin.”

He’d snorted softly, held her tighter. “Right back atcha, babe.” Then he’d kiss that spot under her ear, hot breath against her skin making her shudder and tug him on top of her, and they’d both forget all about it.

 

Of course, it wasn’t all screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain at 2 am. (They actually rarely did that last one, because Bellamy would invariably pull back after just a few seconds, grumbling about the health hazards of pneumonia and sleep deprivation, before pinning Clarke against the door once they were inside.)

There were days that were independently awful, a bad test grade or another phone argument with her mother or just a shitty shift at the gallery. After one of these, all Clarke ever wanted to do was cuddle with her boyfriend. If he wasn’t there, she’d steal one of his shirts, crawl into his side of the bed, close her eyes, breathe in his scent. It was never as good as the real thing, but Bellamy seemed to have a preternatural sense for when she was missing him, and he’d usually be home before too long.

“Sometimes I think about not coming home — crashing at Miller’s or O’s place, just until I can figure things out.”

Clarke rolled over to look at him, eyes wide. While the possibility had crossed her mind once or twice, it was very different to hear him actually say it. “Why don’t you?”

He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his already mussed hair. “Hell if I know. Seems like every time I decide to finally do it, I somehow end up back here instead. It’s like, you’re the best kind of bad something, and I can’t stop myself.”

“So you keep on coming back for more.” _And I love you for it,_ she didn’t say. If Bellamy  couldn’t read between the lines by now, well, that was his problem. For some reason, though, she didn’t have any doubts that he knew exactly what she meant.

“So do you,” he pointed out. Murmured sleepily into her hair as he pulled her into his side, it sounded an awful lot like _I love you too._

**Author's Note:**

> I feel the need to say that this isn't the kind of relationship I would advocate or want to be in myself. This is fiction and the dynamic portrayed is what the song suggested to me, but I'm not trying to romanticize or otherwise comment on it.
> 
> Also, some lines are lifted right from the song, so if they seem familiar that's probably why. (There's also a Taylor Swift reference in there!)
> 
> This was written for [bellarkepromptfills](http://bellarkepromptfills.tumblr.com/); you can send prompts there or to [my blog](http://bellamythology.tumblr.com/)!


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